Anywhere
by huggablelove
Summary: "I care not for the fact that we are not bound by blood. I care only for the memories we share. That proves we are brothers more than blood ever could" Contains angst and brotherly love.


**A/N  
I suggest you listen to youtube****.com/watch?v=8Lyk729ECNE**** whilst reading this. Can work without though. Thank you.**

Thump after thump. It wasn't unusual. Probably just another Asgardian. Come down to mock him, the monster they all hated so much. Or maybe it was a guard, and he took a deep breath, readying himself for another beating. Maybe what father had done was best, protecting him from this future. At least his life wasn't a lie now. No, it was true, but it wasn't worth living.

Metal struck metal, yet he didn't look up. He let his head hang in shame, hiding his face from whomever was here this time. He just wanted it all to end. He only ever wanted to be equal: to be loved. Nothing more. He cared not for power or wealth in all honesty, just for love.

A warm hand rested itself on his shoulder. Fake comfort. Make him believe, believe that someone still gave a damn about him, for him. Probably to lull him into a false sense of security, trick him into looking up into their condescending eyes. Just to take more from him, to make him despise life even more. At his refusal to look, a hand slipped under his chin, and lifted his face up. He shut his eyes, refusing them the pleasure of the pain in his eyes, the enjoyment at seeing him so weak and pathetic.

"They've hurt you." Came a deep voice. A simple declaration. They'd always been hurting him, been shunning him away. At least before it was only mentally, but now they left their mark upon his face. A deep purple bruise rising upon his cheekbone. Such a contrast to his pale skin, paler still due to the deprivation of sun.

"Brother, come with me." The hand released his shoulder, and he dared open his eyes. It couldn't get any worse now. Death would be a gift, now. A hand was outstretched in front of him. A mockery. No-one cares for him anymore. Just more mind games. Trickery.

"Take my hand, Loki." He shuddered at his own name, a cradle for everything he'd done and been. A reminder of how he was rejected by everyone. Even his own, real father.

The outstretched hand grabbed his. He flinched at the contact, expecting some sort of physical attack. Yet nothing. He dared look into his brother's eyes, and saw something he hadn't seen anyone look at him with for a long time. Worry. Sympathy. Genuine.

The hand pulled him slowly to his feet, and he stood shakily, still fearing it was all just a trick. No-one cared for him anymore. He would be led out to a jeering, mocking crowd, or maybe taken round a corner and beaten with Mjolnir, before being thrown back in his cell.

"We're leaving here, brother. We're leaving for Alf-Heim. They know not what we've done there, or who we are, or who we will be, but that we are seeking refuge, and they will welcome us with open arms." He shook his head. People hated him. No-one would do this for him. He wasn't important, or loved, or wanted. He was no-one.

"Asgard has wronged you, brother, and I won't let you stay. It has hurt you, all your life. We're leaving Asgard forever." He just shook his head more, staring down at the floor, stumbling as the hand pulled him along. The lying hand. The hand of lies. The hand of no truth.

"I will give up the throne here. I care for nothing more than your well-being, no matter what you have done, Loki. You are a brother to me, and always will be. We were raised together, we played together, we fought together. I care not for the fact that we are not bound by blood. I care only for the memories we share. That proves we are brothers more than blood ever could" It pulled him faster, round corners, and he feared the moment Mjolnir was raised against him, when it was all revealed as falsehoods, just another lie he'd be subject to. For simply desiring to be equal. To be loved.

At least it would be over though.

The pain would stop.

"Why?" He forced out, his voice raspy. The bearer of his hand turned to him, and looked him in the eyes. Still worried. Still sympathetic. Not angry. Nor malicious. How could he not hate him? Everyone despised him: surely the bearer of his hand was no exception here.

"Because you mean more to me than Asgard, brother. You mean more to me than anything. I care for you. I still care for you. And I shall not allow you to remain here, brother. They hurt you, after I said no, they hurt you. They mocked you and struck you, and I will not allow that to go on. I love you, brother."

He watched the bearer of his hand, shocked. No-one cared for him anymore? Nobody loved him anymore? They were no longer statements, but questions, questions that whispered in the back of his mind, dancing on the tip of his tongue, pleading to be asked.

The bearer of his hand dropped Mjolnik, a sharp strike on the floor, and pulled him into a hug. Gentle. Warm. Soft. Loving. Wrong… right? Loki looked Thor in the eyes for the first time without anger, or hatred, or fear, or jealousy.

"Thank you, brother…"


End file.
